


smile like you mean it

by SmilinStar



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, big fat balls of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-14 01:18:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15377541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmilinStar/pseuds/SmilinStar
Summary: “You know,” he says, not looking away, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen MJ smile.”And okay, he’s seen her smirk, and maybe there’s been a trace of a grin at one of Flash’s idiotic answers in decathlon practice once or twice, but he’s never truly seen hersmile. The kind of smile that starts in the eyes and lights up her face –a really pretty face.Objectively speaking, of course.Ned stops his rambling and looks at him, mouth agape. The French fry midway to his mouth drooping at the end with the weight of excess ketchup.“What?”“It’s just, I dunno, man. It’s weird,” Peter continues, “I’ve known her for forever, and I’ve never seen her smile. That’s weird, right?”Or:all the ways Peter tries to make MJ smile (and fails. repeatedly.)





	smile like you mean it

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song by The Killers.

 

))((

 

 

It’s a typical Tuesday.

As in nothing especially interesting is going on inside the halls of Midtown Science, or outside for that matter. As far as Peter knows, New York City hasn’t been invaded by any aliens since he last checked, and its only enemies are the ones that keep his masked alter-ego in business after school. Well, them and the traffic jam that has Queen’s Boulevard at a standstill this morning.

The only blip of excitement so far had been turning up to AP Bio to find Ms Warren epically freaking out about someone letting all the frogs loose in the lab. _Again._

Fourth time this month, and apparently that prank never gets old.

So, there’s nothing really to explain it.

Why of all Tuesdays, it’s this Tuesday that Peter zones out of whatever Ned’s telling him with wild gesticulating arms and finds himself staring at one Michelle Jones.

She’s sitting as usual in the corner of the cafeteria, glued to the book in her hand, eyes flying over the page at a rate of five hundred words per minute or something just as ridiculous – all he knows is that it’s fast, like inhumanly fast – and Peter thinks that that may just be her superpower. Because he likes to think everyone has one. Like Ned’s is that he’s freakishly good at remembering random strings of numbers – like he knows Pi to a hundred and three digits (okay so he’s not quite Lu Chao, but he’s working on it); and Aunt May can make any crappy day a million times brighter by just giving him one of her hugs.

He thinks MJ’s must be reading super fast, or maybe it’s intimidating the crap out of people – students, teachers alike – with one arched eyebrow and a pointed stare. It’s as if she creates a natural forcefield around her with it and no one dares question her or even ventures within a three-metre radius.

He doesn’t know why he does it, or why he lets his gaze linger on her profile, and he must have a death wish or something as he lets his eyes drop to her lips and thinks, in a purely detached manner, that they’re kinda _nice_. And then it comes to him, a random stray observation, he can’t help but voice aloud:

“You know,” he says, not looking away, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen MJ smile.”

And okay, he’s seen her smirk, and maybe there’s been a trace of a grin at one of Flash’s idiotic answers in decathlon practice once or twice, but he’s never truly seen her _smile_. The kind of smile that starts in the eyes and lights up her face – _a really pretty face_.

Objectively speaking, of course.

Ned stops his rambling and looks at him, mouth agape. The French fry midway to his mouth drooping at the end with the weight of excess ketchup.

“What?”

“It’s just, I dunno, man. It’s weird,” Peter continues, “I’ve known her for forever, and I’ve never seen her smile. That’s weird, right?”

“No, that’s just MJ. What’s weird is this conversation. Did you listen to anything I just said, dude? I just told you my mom is seriously considering letting us go to New York Comic Con this year! Do you think May would be cool with it?”

Peter’s ears perk up at the sound of those two words – _Comic Con –_ and he looks back at Ned, all thoughts of MJ and her pretty, unsmiling face disappearing as he grins big. “Seriously? Oh my god, that’s so awesome! Yeah, she’d be cool with it.”

And as they start rambling excitedly about costumes and who’s going to be there, the bell rings to mark the end of lunchtime. Ned’s still talking in his ear as they walk past MJ with their empty trays, and Peter doesn’t know why but his eyes wander in her direction once more and he nearly trips over his own feet as he does.

Because she looks up, right at that moment, and smiles.

_If you can call it that._

It’s all white teeth, and manic eyes, and Peter thinks she may just murder him.

It’s unnerving, right up until the moment she flips him the bird and her lips turn into a familiar scowl.

He shakes his head, and grins.

And thus begins Operation: Make MJ Smile.

 

))((

 

Peter doesn’t mean to become obsessed with MJ and her smiles, or lack thereof.

He just kind of takes it as a personal challenge.

Especially since they’ve become friends. Or something.

He can’t really pinpoint how or when it happens. It’s just one lunch time MJ stops sitting five seats away and starts sitting right in front of him, stealing fries off Ned’s plate and calling them nerds to their faces rather than from across the room.

And he quickly figures that in MJ’s world, that means they’re friends.

And he’s cool with it.

Because MJ’s pretty damn awesome and she doesn’t need anyone to tell her that. She’s ridiculously smart, surprisingly hilarious, but in this deadpan kinda way where she _never_ cracks a smile at one of her own jokes, and you know, there’s the other thing too. The thing where she’s also really pretty. And it’s really not his fault that he starts noticing. After all, she’s sitting right there, and his eyes keep drifting to the straight press of her lips and the words fly out of Peter’s mouth before he can Stop. Rewind. Replay.

“Hey, you wanna hear a joke?”

“No,” she says, shutting her hardback copy of _The Year of the Flood_ and not even bothering to glance up.

He opens and closes his mouth, and he can feel himself deflate. And apparently, MJ can _feel_ it too.

She looks up and rolls her eyes. “Fine, go on then, Loser. Hit me with your best.”

Problem is, his brain hasn’t really caught up to his mouth and he hasn’t even thought of a joke yet. And so, he’s left stuttering an “um . . . uh . . .” as MJ folds her arms across her chest, slouches back in her chair, and waits.

“Oh ok, yeah. Got one.” He says finally and clears his throat. “What’s a nuclear physicist’s favourite meal?”

“No idea,” and what she clearly means, by the expression on her face, is: _don’t care._

But Peter’s not deterred in the least as he grins at her, and then waits a second before answering and pointing at his plate.

“Fission chips.”

And . . . _nothing._

_Not even a twitch._

But Ned, beside him – never one to let him down – bursts out laughing and well, he can’t be _too_ disappointed.

MJ, however, remains steadfastly unmoved and unimpressed.

“Well that was embarrassing, Parker.”

Except, of course, he’d chosen a terrible nerdy joke on purpose – because what’s funnier than a joke that’s so bad it’s hilarious?

“Alright,” he says then, sitting a little straighter, “I’ve got another one.”

“Is it also as lame as the one on your shirt?”

He glances down at his chest, pulling at the hem of his t-shirt and lifting it slightly. The words ‘May the Mass Times Acceleration be with you’ are emblazoned in _Star Wars_ font across it, and he looks back at her crestfallen.

He loves this t-shirt.

But MJ’s not looking back at him. Her gaze flickering instead to the flash of skin, and incriminating abs, he’s unwittingly displaying.

He flushes and pulls his shirt back down.

“Sorry,” MJ says abruptly, standing up, chair legs scraping against the floor as she pushes it back, “it’s gonna have to be a hard pass from me. Stick to the day job, Nerd.”

And then, she walks off.

Ned pats him consolingly on the shoulder, entirely oblivious, and shrugs. “Hey, at least _I_ think you’re funny.”

“Thanks man,” Peter says, and tries not to think anything of MJ’s speedy exit.

After all, it’s probably just MJ being MJ.

_Probably._

 

))((

 

After discovering he doesn’t have a future career in comedy, Peter changes tack the following day.

He decides to wear her down with his own smile – Aunt May’s told him many times over that it’s like sunshine and utterly infectious, so maybe it’ll work.

But then the longer he stands here in front of her, lips twitching from exhaustion as he smiles inanely and she simply stares him down, he starts to think that maybe Aunt May got it wrong.

“Hi MJ,” he grins with a half-wave.

“‘Sup, loser?” she asks, eyes narrowing a little in suspicion before she’s opening up her locker door and disappearing behind it.

He wracks his brain for something to say. He clearly hadn’t thought this through when he spotted her across the hallway this morning.

She shuts the door again with a clang before turning to face him, arms folding around her chemistry notebook, and shoulder pressing into the lockers. “Was there something you wanted? Or were you just gonna stare at me all day?”

He shifts on his feet and starts talking before he chickens out. “I was, uh, wondering if you wanted to come around mine after school? Ned’ll be there too,” he hurries to clarify. “We were maybe gonna do a movie marathon or something.”

A beat.

“On a school night? Living dangerously, huh?”

He smiles wider, though his cheeks are screaming at him.

She’s still eyeing him with that intense stare, and it’s hard not to take a step backwards when she steps closer.

“What’s with the face, Parker?” she asks.

“What face?”

And then she’s reaching out, hands pressing into his cheeks and pulling them back, up, down, this way and that, and he feels them burning red under the scrutiny of her fingertips and those eyes.

“Weird,” she breathes out, stepping away, taking her fingers with her, and he breathes out in relief, the smile finally dropping. “For a second there I thought you’d been replaced by an android, or a wax-work, or succumbed to demonic possession. Anyone ever tell you, you have the smile of a demented psychopath?”

She says nothing more.

Turns on her feet, and walks away, but not before waving over her shoulder, and calling out without looking back, “see you losers after school!”

Peter blows out a breath.

Yep. Aunt May _definitely_ got it wrong.

 

))((

 

The next time he’s not even trying to make her smile.

So, it doesn’t count.

(For all his increased spatial awareness, Peter happens to trip over rather spectacularly in the middle of class after getting his foot trapped in the strap of someone’s bag lying carelessly on the floor. He falls flat on his face, and cue the class wide sniggers and laughs, and he swears even Mr Cobwell is hiding a smile behind the rim of his coffee cup.

The only person who doesn’t laugh or smile is Ned.

He just winces sympathetically.

But it’s MJ who asks from the back of the classroom, loud and clear, and halting the laughter, “you okay, Peter?”

There’s a flicker of concern and not a trace of humour. He swallows down the flurry of butterflies that have somehow displaced the embarrassment and smiles. “Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks.”

She nods back at him.)

He takes it as a win, anyway.

 

))((

 

He starts leaving her presents.

Or more like, he starts adding books he thinks she might like to her pile of library loans when she’s not looking, or slipping inspirational quotes, or humorous comic strips into her locker.

Ned only shakes his head at his antics and looks at him like he’s a hopeless cause.

“What?” he argues. “She’s our friend. I want to see her happy.”

“Who says she’s not?”

The words ring in his ears.

It’s a very good question, and one he doesn’t have an answer to if the way he stutters out his reply is anything to go by.

“That’s not . . . I didn’t mean . . .” he shakes his head. “Never mind.”  

“Okay . . .” Ned says then slowly, knowingly, in a way that tells him he’s drawn his own conclusions, and Peter’s probably not gonna like them.

So, he doesn’t ask.

And carries right on with his mission.

He watches day after day, from behind the safety of his own locker, as MJ opens her own and finds whatever surprise he’s left for her. She always reads the slips of paper, before throwing them back in with the rest of her textbooks and doesn’t even bother looking around for the culprit.

She doesn’t smile either.

He gives up on plan c? d? a week later; finally giving in and labelling it the failure that it is. But of course, with it being _him_ , he can’t scratch a clean line through it and move on without falling victim to self-inflicted embarrassment first.

Because, of course, MJ – ever-observant – is onto him.

She corners him one afternoon, after a pretty abysmal decathlon practice where the team’s left wondering if they’re even going to win regionals let alone states, and _no one_ has any reason to smile.

The corridors are deserted and nearly everyone’s gone home, and he really should have heard her approach, but doesn’t. He’s too wrapped up in his own thoughts and nearly jumps out of his skin at the sight of her standing there, staring him down, when he closes the door of his locker.

“MJ, what -”

“I know what you’re up to, Nerd.”

His heart thunders in his chest, and if he had his Spider-Man mask on right now, he’s sure Karen would be perking up right about now to tell him he’s dangerously close to going into VF.

He gulps. “I don’t know -”

She lifts up a familiar piece of paper, and he stares at the words:

_Q: What happens when electrons lose their energy?_

_A: They get Bohr’ed._

Yeah, he knew that one would probably come back to bite him on the ass. Truth is, he’d run out of _Calvin and Hobbes_ strips, and he only knows terrible, nerdy science jokes.

“It’s almost like you wanted me to know it was you,” she says.

He rubs a hand at the back of his neck and looks away, can feel his cheeks burning as he does, because, just maybe, _part of him did_.

She doesn’t dwell on it though.

“So, tell me Parker, what’s with this obsession with trying to get me to crack a smile?”

He gapes at her, stammers, “I’m not . . . that’s not . . . _how_?”

And then for one breathless second, it happens.

_She’s smiling._

And holy crap is he in trouble.

Because she’s always been beautiful, but there’s just something about her face when it’s all lit up and soft around the edges, and he feels it’s her secret, and her secret alone to tell, and she’s just shared it with him. And he’s gonna do something stupid like snap a mental photo of this moment and tuck it between his third and fourth left rib and keep it there for all eternity.

But before he can do something quite so lame, it’s gone.

The smile turns effortlessly into a smirk that’s wholly Michelle Jones as she tells him, “not gonna happen.”

He points dumbly at her mouth. “But you just did.”

She arches an eyebrow, as she steps away. “Did I?”

It’s classic MJ and with no witnesses around, Peter’s condemned to wonder if it really had been just a figment of his own imagination.

She walks backwards away from him. “Oh, by the way, the Library are grateful for all those second-hand donations. They send their thanks.”

And then she’s gone.

 

))((

 

It’s like now that she knows, she’s taken to messing with him. Constantly.

Split-second half smiles during lunch of the blink and you’ll miss it variety. Manic grinning when he gets an answer right in decathlon practice, that has the rest of the team looking around confused and shifting nervously in their seats. And then, even more bizarrely, the exaggerated, lovey-dovey, fluttery sigh of a smile she does any time anyone mentions Spider-Man and his heroic exploits of the week.

It’s weird, but she always looks at him when she does it.

Peter thinks this is just her way of getting back at him. But then the rapid thud of his pulse under his skin makes him wonder if _she knows._

He shoves the thought aside and dismisses it.

No, this is just MJ being her usual smartass self.

Just as she is right now. Sitting across the room from him in their AP chemistry class, clearly drawing something in her notebook and not paying any attention to the lesson. And to be fair, he’s not either.

He can’t stop staring at her.

Her curls are falling loose from her hair tie, resting against her cheek, eyes laser focussed on the paper in front of her, and her lips are curled ever so slightly upwards as she draws.

She’s beautiful, and his palms feel sweaty, and it’s then that he finally admits that he’s crushing hard on Michelle Jones and has been for months.

But this isn’t like Liz.

This is something else entirely, and it’s scary as hell but amazing all at the same time, and he’s in way over his head.

And it’s as this realisation hits, MJ looks up at him as if she’d known he’d been staring at her this whole time.

He flushes red but doesn’t look away.

Something flickers in her dark eyes, but then it’s gone before he can make sense of it, and she’s simply lifting her notebook up over the front of her mouth.

He can’t help it; the short burst of laughter that leaves his lips is instant the second he sees what she’s drawn.

It’s a wide toothy smile with several missing or chipped teeth, and with MJ’s nose and eyes peering at him from over the top, it makes for quite the picture.

There’s definite mischief in her eyes and he thinks his heart might burst with the joy of it.

But then heads are swivelling in their direction at the sudden disruption and sound of his laugh and MJ turns away instantly, dropping her notebook and carrying on as if nothing has happened.

Mr Cobwell glares at him before continuing with the lesson Peter’s paying zero attention to. And given looming midterms, he really ought to be and so, he clears his throat and sits up straighter and tries to refocus on the textbook in front of him.

He lasts all of ten seconds before he’s sneaking one last glance in MJ's direction.

She’s staring straight ahead, but he sees it.

Right _there._

The corner of her lip twitches.

He grins.

 

))((

 

“You do realise, this obsession of yours to get me to smile, is kinda creepy, don’t you, Parker?” she asks him later.

Peter opens and closes his mouth and manages to stammer out an “I’m not obsessed.”

She gives him a look then which is the perfect nonverbal substitute for: _“Sure you aren’t.”_

They’re at Ned’s place after school.

Peter on one end of the couch, MJ curled up with her feet tucked under her on the solo armchair. Ned’s disappeared to hunt down some snacks, leaving them both to this mortifying conversation. Well, it is for Peter in any case.

“I’m not,” he says again.

“Why do you even want me to smile?” she asks. “And don’t say it’s because I look pretty when I smile or some such misogynistic shit.”

He sits up and leans forward and shakes his head. Because it’s so not that. He doesn’t even know what it is but all he can say, rather stupidly, is: “No, that’s not it. It’s . . . It’s just I like seeing you happy.”

And oh god. He wants the ground to swallow him whole, he wants to melt into the couch and camouflage and not be seen right now.

MJ frowns. “Who says I’m not happy?”

He doesn’t get to answer her as Ned returns right at that moment and looks between them suspiciously before sitting on the three-seater with Peter and picking up the Blu-ray remote. He presses play and the screen turns black with the _LucasFilm Ltd_. title front and centre.

Peter settles in to watch the movie, his attention only really half on it.

His eyes keep drifting over to MJ throughout. Curled up on her seat, hogging the bowl of popcorn, her own eyes are glued to the screen as she’s tinged in bluish light from the TV.

They’re about halfway through _Solo: A Star Wars Story_ when his cell phone vibrates in his pocket.

He slips it out, eyes widening a fraction as he realises the incoming message is from MJ.

He looks over at her, but her own gaze is firmly fixed on the TV screen, with her phone face down on her thigh.

**Stop staring you creep.**

He shifts in his seat as he looks over the message again, before glancing back at her.

She still doesn’t look his way, picks up her phone instead and quickly types something.

A millisecond later, his phone vibrates in his hand.

He looks down, and bites down on his smile.

It’s a **middle finger emoji.**

He types back:

**I’m not staring.**

_MJ is typing . . ._

**Sure you aren’t.**

**Thought you loved this movie.**

**I do. I’ve seen it six times already.**

**Before or after it came out on Blu-ray?**

**Before.**

And that’s when he notices it, the up-tilt of the corner of her mouth, and she’s smiling down at her phone, and he feels giddy with it.

It’s a moment before his screen lights up again with a pulsing **…**

And then the **loser emoji** materialises on his screen.

And he’s huffing out a laugh before he can stop himself, which is enough to rouse Ned’s attention. He glances towards him, but Peter mouths a quick “sorry” and makes a show of turning around and concentrating on the movie.

He thinks that’s the end of the conversation. Until his phone buzzes against his jeans five minutes later.

His eyes scan the words over and over, breath caught in his chest.

He ends up holding it there for the rest of the evening.

Because what she’d said is this:

**You losers make me happy.**

And well, he’s never read anything so amazing in his life.

 

))((

 

The following day MJ pretends she never even sent him that text, that she never even admitted to something so freaking sweet and sappy. Nope, she just carries on as usual, sticking up her middle finger in lieu of a greeting, calling them losers from across the hallway as she reminds them about decathlon practice after school, and then later unceremoniously dropping herself onto the bench next to them during Phys. Ed. She passes over a small stack of printed out articles with a pink post-it, the letters FYI scrawled on it, stuck to the front.

He looks back at her confused as he takes them off her.

He leafs through the pages carefully, eyebrows knitting together as he notes the common theme of the female smile and misogyny. There’s a Huffington Post article, followed by one from The Guardian, another from the New York Post and Peter starts to understand.

He feels an uncomfortable prickling under his skin, the high of yesterday evening dissipating just like that. Because he’d never meant to come across as a sexist asshole and he’s never outright told her to smile, he just wanted to make her day a little brighter, and _oh man_ , he thinks, _he’s really screwed up_.

His distress must show on his face, because MJ gently presses her shoulder into his then, and says softer than he’s ever heard her, “hey. I’m not showing you these to be a dick. And I’m not saying you’re anything like those assholes. I know what you were doing wasn’t anything like this shit, but I figured I’d give you a heads up for future reference.”

He looks up at her then, and he’s not expecting her to be looking back at him when he does. So close, and her expression so soft, he feels his heart shudder to a stop for an infinitesimal moment.

“You’re one of the good ones Peter,” she says then, holding his gaze and something shifts between them.

And he knows she feels it too, because she snaps her head away and clears her throat, patting him awkwardly on the shoulder. “Alright, catch you later, dork.”

And then she’s gone. Climbing down the bleachers and sneaking out of the doors of the gym, and Coach Wilson doesn’t even notice.

Peter reads every single article that night, leaning back against his pillows, and he gets what she’s trying to tell him.

And so right there and then, he decides to pull the plug on Operation: Make MJ Smile.

Because she is who she is.

And he wouldn’t change a thing about her.

 

))((

 

In the weeks after, Peter doesn’t bring up the topic again, and neither does MJ.

Things go back to normal.

Well, as normal as they can be when he’s pretty sure he’s (maybe, possibly, how the hell is he supposed to know?) kinda, sorta, _inlovewithMJ._

Cos he knows a crush. He’s been there, done that. And this feels different.

But he’s only sixteen, he tells himself, so he can’t be? Right?

And so, he tries not to think about it.

Except, MJ is making it pretty damn hard for him.

Because, of course, only when he goes and drops the whole thing, does she honest-to-god start smiling.

Little smirks that are actually half-smiles, glittering from her eyes. Mischievous grins that are soft around the edges that totally count as genuine smiles. And the laughter.

God, _that laugh._

He is so completely done for.

And Ned, being Ned – stuck in the middle, and day-in, day-out witness to the ongoing saga that is ‘Peter and MJ: Dumb Dorks in Love’ as he dubs it – is the one to deliver the kick in the ass he needs.

“Just ask her out already, dude!”

“What?” he squeaks, before clearing his throat and saying, not especially convincingly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

Ned rolls his eyes. “You do realise, she likes you too, right?”

“Really?” he asks, perking up, and giving himself away.

Ned smirks and holy shit, it looks a lot like MJ’s been rubbing off on him.

“Look, even _I’ve_ noticed how she looks at you, that’s gotta be saying something! Plus, she only ever smiles at you.”

He looks back at him flabbergasted. “What?”

“Yeah she’s totally got a ‘Peter smile’.”

Ned just shakes his head at his dumbstruck expression and gets back to the English assignment they’re supposed to be doing.

But then trying to concentrate after that bombshell is futile and it’s all he can think about for hours after.

Because he can’t help it. Can’t help thinking about all their interactions that have gone before and paying attention from here on out.

And as he was watches MJ the following day – the way she ducks her head behind her locker door after he’s said something purposefully cheesy (something a little like “Hey, you kicked ass in Debate today. You were awesome!"), to the way she acknowledges it only with a “Thanks, Nerd,” and doesn’t meet his eyes, a flicker of a smile appearing and disappearing just like that, he thinks that maybe Ned was right.

It’s all he can do from punching the air and whooping in delight.

But he keeps it to himself for now.

And formulates a plan, instead.

 

))((

 

Two weeks later Peter finds MJ in the art studio after school working hard on a poster.

It’s a half-finished placard, and although Peter knows exactly what it’s for, he asks anyway.

“Oh cool,” he says, stepping up next to her. “What’s it for?”

“The Women’s March on Sunday.”

“You’re going to that?”

She turns slightly and gives him a pointed stare like he's asked the dumbest question she's ever heard.

“Of course you are,” he breathes out.

She goes back to her painting.

He clears his throat. “Hey, can you do me a favour?”

“What’s that, Parker?”

“Do you remember that drawing? The one you did of the cartoon mouth with the missing teeth and -”

“Why?” she interrupts, staring at him.

He shrugs. “I liked it, and I was wondering if I could -”

She drops her paintbrush and walks over to her bag, pulls out her notebook, rifles through it until she finds the picture and rips it out.

“-have it,” he finishes, as she slaps it into his hand and shakes her head. “Weirdo.”

He grins his thanks and leaves her to her protest sign.

(After all, he has his own to make.)

 

))((

 

Peter decides there’s nothing quite like it.

And he doesn’t even know where to begin to explain just how awesome this whole thing is.

For one, the size of the crowd taking over the Upper West Side of Manhattan for this year’s Women’s March is ridiculous. It’s just thousands of people as far as the eye can see, with just as many protests signs. Vibrant, colourful, loud, smart, hilarious, but all making a point and standing their ground.

It’s almost as exhilarating as slinging his webs and flying and swooping between the City’s skyscrapers.

It’s amazing being a part of history.

But number two, and his absolute favourite part, is the moment he spots MJ’s face in the crowd, and the look of recognition that lights up her expression when she sees him.

And even better than that? Is the smile that grows on her lips, when she lifts her eyes to the placard he holds over his head and she realises what it is she’s looking at.

Compared to everyone else’s efforts, it’s nothing really special.

But to him and to her, he hopes it means something.

Because there on his poster is a blown-up copy of MJ’s very own drawing of a smile, busted teeth and all, superimposed over a picture of Spider-Man’s face, with the words _'I’ll smile when I damn well want to'_ written in a speech bubble next to his head.

It’s totally ridiculous.

And he knows it.

She does too, by the way she grins at him, shaking her head.

“You are such a dork,” she mouths at him through the crowd.

He grins back and shrugs. “I know.”

And then? Well then, Peter doesn’t know what’s happening. Because one minute MJ is standing across from him, people swarming around them as they march forwards; and the next, MJ is right in front of him, grabbing him by the collar of his jacket with one hand, the other still clutching her placard as she presses forward and kisses him.

Her lips melt into his, and the world stops for just one moment as he breathes her in, and then he’s kissing her back.

And he can feel it.

The curve of her lips against his and he realises she’s smiling.

 _And that’s the one,_ he thinks.

His favourite smile of them all.

When she pulls back – the moment over far too soon – the smile has turned into a half smirk and he’s instantly on guard; his own smile freezing in place.

“What?” he asks carefully.

“I just have one question,” she pauses, tilting her head to the side as she assesses him. “Why Spider-Man, Peter? Something you want to tell me?”

He opens and closes his mouth, fumbles for words, but she takes mercy on his deer-in-headlights expression and brushes it off with a familiar, teasing, “just kidding!”

She leans in again, but this time she pulls him into a hug. And for a brief moment that’s all it is. A hug in the middle of a New York City protest, in front of thousands of strangers, not even batting an eyelid at the single most important event his life – okay, second, (kinda hard to beat getting bitten by a radioactive spider and getting superpowers) – and it’s _really nice._

A really nice hug, right up until she whispers the words, _“I already know,”_ into his ear.

But before he can even register the confession, she’s pressing her lips against his one more time.

It’s a conversation for another time.

But for now, he meets her smile with one of his own and lets himself get lost in the crowd.

Later she’ll tell him, poking at his cheeks, that he still smiles like a demented psychopath.

And he’ll tell her she only ever smiles like she means it.

It’ll get him another kiss on the lips and a wink, and she’ll say:

 _“It’s the_ only _way to smile.”_

 

 

**End.**

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! If you did, please let me know. Comments, as always, are very much appreciated :-)


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